The Endless Forest (79 page)

Instead she said, “Could you bring Hopper home with you too?”

“Whatever you need, darlin’.”

“I need you,” she said, and she managed a smile. “Don’t dawdle.”

He winked at her, her beautiful husband who knew the worst, and who loved her nonetheless. When he was gone, she went inside to wait for him.

Lily’s suspicions about Jennet were proved true just past dark when the fireworks began in the village and Luke came through the door.

He took one look at her and said, “When did the pains start?”

Jennet put out her hands and he pulled her out of her chair. “Och, dinnae fret. I’ve done this before, after all.” She turned her head to wink at Lily over her shoulder.

“I thought you might have started,” Lily said.

“And you kept your questions to yourself, for which I thank you. I’ll be as happy as the next woman when I’ve got this child on the outside of me, but there will be no peace for months to come. This afternoon meant a great deal to me.”

Luke was in the hall calling for Curiosity.

Jennet said, “You could come along, if you like.” And then, in response to the look on Lily’s face, “Aye, and why would you?”

“If you would like me there, I will come and gladly,” Lily said.

Simon came galloping, bursting into the hall like a boy with an excess of energy. He had taken the time to wash at the pump, so that his hair was damp, his face was new scrubbed, and his expression alarmed.

“Lily,” he said, trying not to scowl and failing, “where is it you think you’re going?”

“She’ll stay right where she is, Ballentyne,” Jennet said, one hand supporting her belly. “I’m away to split myself in two. And here’s Curiosity, to help me along.”

“You are very calm,” Lily said to her.

“For the moment, aye. I’ll do my fair share of shouting by morning.”

“You’re going to walk to Downhill House?” Simon looked aghast. “Why not stay here in your own chamber?”

“Don’t look at me,” Luke said. “I’ve got no say in any of this.”

Curiosity said, “That’s right. This is women’s business. Come, Jennet, a walk will move things along nicely and my guess is, the shouting will be over long before morning.” Then she turned and gave Simon a pointed look. “You go on ahead and tell the story that has got to be told.”

Then Lily was alone with Simon, who collapsed next to her on the chaise longue.

“So, my blueberry. Can you tell me why Jennet’s been taken off to Downhill House?”

“Because that’s where Hannah has all her supplies and medications,” Lily said. “That’s where she’ll want me to be when my time comes.”

“And the bairns?”

“They’ll send them all over here for the night,” Lily said. “So they can distract one another from worry about Jennet.”

“And distract us too, forbye.” He put a hand on her belly.

Recently Simon had taken to patting her and waiting for a response, which often came in the form of a solid thump or two. The first time this happened his surprise and delight told Lily that he had been afraid to hope. With that soft thump, he finally realized that this child was coming. Tears had filled his eyes, and that alone made all the worry and discomfort worthwhile.

“Blueberry is sleeping,” she said. “And let’s leave things be. My liver has been mauled enough for one day. Simon, what story was Curiosity talking about?”

He drew in a deep sigh and held it for a moment. His expression alarmed her, and she said so.

“It’s just Jemima,” he said. “She’s back.”

And in response to her sharp look, he told her the rest.

“If I were able,” Lily said when he had finished, “I would march down to the Red Dog and have a word with Jemima, sick or no.”

“Aye,” Simon said. “I ken ye so far, Lily. But we must leave this to the others.”

“It’s our own fault,” Lily said. “We were so surprised to see her again, we all backed down. She shows up and makes demands and carries on and we let her.”

“And if that’s so,” Simon said, “it won’t be the case for long.”

“But she’ll make everyone miserable between now and then. If we let her.”

“Do ye no think,” Simon began slowly, “that it’s Martha’s place to decide how best to act in this case?”

“No,” Lily said. “Martha doesn’t see any of this clearly.”

“And who does?” said Simon. “In the whole Bonner clan, tell me, which of ye sees clearly how best to handle Jemima?”

B
irdie had no memory of falling asleep. One minute she was stretched out on the floor straining to hear the men talking about things that might be interesting some other time, but which right now only got in the way. She never meant to fall asleep, but the sound of their voices was better than a lullabye and sleep came between her and her good intentions.

When she woke the house was quiet and she was aware of two things: She had slept for a long time and must be missing the dancing, and the men were gone without her ever finding out what exactly was going on. As soon as she sat up a few other facts presented themselves: her legs and arms were covered with scratches from climbing the trellis, and she had a cramp in her neck.

Birdie was halfway down the stairs when she heard people coming back into the kitchen. She sat right down where she was and hoped whoever it was was in a talkative mood, and that they’d stay out of the front hall where any grown-up was bound to ask her a dozen questions.

She heard Curiosity say, “Set there while I get some things together. By and by we’ll get you settled upstairs. How close are the pains?”

Jennet’s voice said, “A quarter hour or so. No great hurry.”

There was a moment’s silence and then Curiosity said, “I hope Hannah is staying away from the Red Dog, but I doubt she will.”

“Jemima will cause as much trouble as she can manage,” Jennet said. “And Hannah is drawn to trouble. We all are, who are of Carryck. It’s in the blood. All ye need to do is look at the little people, and there it is, plain to see.”

Birdie slipped out the front door after a short debate with herself on whether she should stay and help Curiosity until Luke found Hannah and brought her home, or whether she could go down to the Red Dog and find out for herself what it meant that Jemima was back. The fact was, she still did not know what had happened to make all the grownups gather in the middle of the day to talk about it. One thing seemed pretty clear: Something was wrong, and it had to do with Jemima. If that was indeed the case then she, Curiosity-called-Birdie, would just have to step in. It would be the quickest way to the answers that seemed determined to hide themselves.

And she was good at talking to difficult grown-ups. She had developed her methods in Daniel’s classroom, and perfected them at the dinner table.

It would have been useful to know where everybody had gone, because if she ran into Ma or Da or anybody else who considered themselves in a position to order her around, she’d never get to the Red Dog.

She heard the music before she ever got as far as the main road, which meant the dancing was still going on, and that would make things much easier. Every non-Quaker in Paradise would be there. And then it turned out that her ma and da were in the common room at the Red Dog, which brought her up short for all of ten heartbeats. They were here either to talk to Jemima or because they had already talked to her, but there wasn’t any time to waste and so Birdie took herself in hand and found her way around and up by way of the rear stairs.

Pressing her ear to the door gave her no information at all, and so she
scratched, very softly. And then more loudly. In response the door thumped as if someone had thrown a book against it.

“Go away,” came a woman’s voice, rough and raw. “Leave me be.”

Birdie took a deep breath and opened the door.

The room was dim and it smelled bad, and the woman on the bed—fully dressed, down to her shoes—was the color of new cheese, a sickly yellow-white. She smiled in a way that reminded Birdie of a hunting cat.

“You are the image of your mother,” she said. “But take heart, she got a husband in the end, didn’t she. So maybe there’s hope for you.”

“Oh,” Birdie said. “You mean to say my ma’s ugly. But that’s not true, so it can’t upset me.” And: “You don’t have to prove to me how mean you are. I know that already.”

Jemima struggled to sit up higher on her pillows, glaring at Birdie as though she’d like nothing better than to take a bite out of her.

“You’re sick,” Birdie said. “I didn’t know.”

With a huff Jemima said, “As if everybody weren’t talking about me already. You can keep your lies to yourself, missy.”

Birdie sat down on a stool next to a table where a tray with a bowl of broth and a piece of bread had been left untouched.

“Usually people lie because they don’t think they can get what they want by telling the truth,” Birdie said. She was glad she had someplace to sit where she could watch Jemima that was more than an arm’s reach away, because her face had gone pure red with irritation and she seemed the kind to strike out. “That’s what Curiosity says. So why would I lie about knowing you were sick? And anyway, don’t you hear the music? It’s Fourth of July, so I doubt many people are talking about you, if any at all.”

Very slowly Jemima said, “Go away now, and leave me be.”

“I won’t stay long,” Birdie said. “I don’t have many questions.”

Jemima turned her face to the wall.

Birdie said, “What do you want with the Bleeding Heart?”

Jemima turned back. She looked like she was going to spit or laugh or both.

“What?”

“The Bleeding Heart, Callie’s apple tree. What do you want with it? Do you want to take over the orchard?”

Jemima’s mouth fell open in surprise. “Who told you I wanted the orchard?”

“Well, don’t you?” Birdie wished she had written down all her questions because it was hard to keep track.

“I don’t care if I never see another apple or apple tree or orchard,” Jemima muttered.

“But maybe you wanted it anyway,” Birdie said. “People sometimes want things they don’t need. They fight to get them and then they don’t want them after all, all they were after was the fight itself. Is that what you’re after? Or maybe your husband wants it.”

“If I could get out of this bed,” Jemima said, “I would box your ears.”

“Ma says, if people change the subject that’s usually because they don’t want to answer a question.”

“You can spare me your mother’s wisdom,” Jemima said.

“But you still didn’t answer my question,” Birdie said. “Do you really want the orchard, or was it just the fight you want?”

“I want what’s mine,” Jemima said.

Birdie thought for a minute. “The orchard is a lot of work, you know, and it’s not Callie’s anymore anyway.”

“So I hear,” Jemima said, her voice hoarse.

“Well, if you’re not here for the orchard, does that mean you came to take Nicholas away? Because I hope not. He likes it here and we like him. He’s very good at games. He’s not book-clever, but he’s quick in other ways. He was the first one who figured out about chicken number two.”

Jemima closed her eyes and shook her head, and Birdie took this as a sign she didn’t understand. So she explained about the last day of school and Curiosity’s chickens, and how it had worked exactly the way she had planned with the little people, everybody running around the school-house after the chickens until they got the ones marked “one” and “three” and “four” and then running around again because they couldn’t find “two.”

Jemima’s forehead creased. “You’re saying Nicholas found a missing chicken?”

“No,” Birdie said.

“Then what did he do?”

“The chicken wasn’t lost. People just thought it was.”

“So who found it?”

“Nobody,” Birdie said patiently. “Because there wasn’t a second chicken. There was just ‘one’ and ‘three’ and ‘four’ and Nicholas was looking for ‘two’ like everybody else, and then he jumped up on the teacher’s desk and waved his arms over his head and shouted,
What if there never was a second chicken?

“And then Daniel and Martha began to laugh—did you know Martha was teaching too?—and everybody laughed. The whole village laughed when the story got out. Except Curiosity, who was mad that we borrowed her chickens. She’s fond of her chickens.”

Jemima had turned to the wall, and her shoulders were shaking. After a while she got quiet. Still looking at the wall she said, “Who sent you to talk to me?”

“Nobody,” said Birdie. “Nobody knows I’m here. I tried to hear what Hannah was telling but I fell asleep, and so I thought I better come down here and find out for myself. And I’ll get in some trouble when they find out.”

Jemima looked affronted at that idea, so Birdie tried to explain. “Ma wouldn’t want me to be here, because she’s afraid of what you might do. But I’m not, at least not now. Because I can run faster than you, and I could even if you weren’t sick,” Birdie said. “You are very sick, aren’t you. I can see it in your face.”

What Birdie saw in Jemima’s face was the mask that came when somebody was sick unto death. She had seen it before, and more than once. She had seen it when Many-Doves was sick, though she was too young then to explain to Hannah. Many-Doves had understood without being told, and she talked to Birdie about what it meant to see such things, how it was a gift from the Maker of Life and with time she would learn how to use it to help people pass into the shadow lands. Because sometimes that was all a doctor or a healer could do, take the sick person’s hand and get them ready to go. Especially white people, who were afraid of the dark.